Ey're runnin' the numbers they're playin' cops and robbers down in the dungeons inside their machines. cause they don't know what's really real now they're havin' fourth dimensional dreams their
S are out on bail now and real is only what it seems. and all the puppets in this digital jail they're runnin' around in a frenzy in search of the holy grail. they're havin' virtual sex. they're
N' virtual food. no wonder these puppets are always in a lousy mood. so if you think we live in a modern world where everything is clean and swell take a walk on the be side of town down by the p
Motel take a whiff. burning plastic. I drink a cup of coffee I try to revive my mind's a blank I'm barely alive my nerves are shot I feel like hell guess it's time to check in at the puppet mot
Oot up. good afternoon. pause
. oooo. I really llike the way you talk. pardon me. shut down.
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
"The Puppet Motel" as written by Laurie Anderson Brian Peter George Eno
Lyrics © THE ROYALTY NETWORK INC.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind